


Déjà Vu

by Scrawlers



Series: To Devour the Sun [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: Gladion challenges Alan to yet another battle, but before they can begin they are approached by the Aether Foundation. Gladion takes off running as soon as he sees them, but Alan and Manon are brought back to Aether Paradise for a tour of their facilities, much to Alan’s immense discomfort.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As noted, this is part two of a little series that kicked off when Alan and Manon—while on a family “research trip” (read: vacation) with Sycamore, Meyer, Clemont, and Bonnie in Alola—encountered Gladion. Please note that I do still imagine that Manon and Alan are wearing their Alolan outfits described in that fic (aviator shades aside), so that might help you get a better image in your head for how they’re dressed here, too.
> 
> With all of that said, my descriptions of the Aether Paradise facilities come from the very brief glimpses we’ve been given in the trailers. The personalities I give the Aether Foundation employees is, again, given from what little information we have, and then extrapolated upon. Probably everything will be completely jossed when the games come out, but until then, here's this.

“Alan, look! Another one!”

Manon charged across the beach, sand dusting across her feet and wedging between her toes and the sole of her sandal, and scooped up the pyukumuku from a half-dive. The little pokémon began wiggling feebly the moment she picked it up, waving its hot pink legs in the air, and Manon smiled at it as Alan leisurely walked up to join her.

“I kind of want to catch one,” she said, and she held it up for him to see. As if sensing that it was about to be thrown into the ocean, the pyukumuku doubled its efforts to wriggle free. “They’re kinda cute, don’t you think?”

Alan raised his eyebrows, looking first at her, then at the pyukumuku, then back at her. “This is cute to you?” he asked.

Manon huffed. “Don’t be rude! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“You’re about to throw it face first into the ocean.”

“It doesn’t have to be face first! It might land on its butt.” Manon paused, and then frowned a little as she looked at the pokémon in her arms. “Actually . . . which end is its mouth?”

Alan was quiet for a long moment, and when Manon looked back at him, she saw that he was giving the pyukumuku a thoughtful frown. “We can ask the professor later,” he said finally, “but it might be best not to think about it.”

“Huh? Why?”

Alan shook his head. “Never mind. Are you going to throw it or not?”

Manon grinned, and took several steps back away from the shoreline so that she would have plenty of room. When she was ready, she turned her smile down at the pyukumuku in her arms, which did not seem at all reassured. “All right, little one,” she said. “Have a nice trip!” Her well-wishes given, Manon spun herself in three rapid circles before she finally released the pyukumuku, sending it sailing toward the horizon. As the world righted itself on its axis (to her perception, at least), she watched as the pyukumuku soared through the air before tumbling down to the ocean below, and let out an excited cheer.

“Alan, did you see that one? Did you see how far that one went? That was the farthest one yet!” she said, pointing a finger out at the spot where the pyukumuku had disappeared.

Alan smiled back at her. “Yeah. Good job.”

Despite the beautiful weather and the fact that it was still a decent time in the afternoon, Melemele Beach was all but empty. According to the lifeguard stationed further up the beach, the pyukumuku were the reason; no one wanted to come out to the beach while the pyukumuku were there, he said, but the locals knew that the pyukumuku could still go a few more days without needing to be thrown back into the sea to eat. Because of that, the pyukumuku were allowed to bury themselves in the sand for at least a little longer, and that kept the beach guest free. Manon couldn’t understand why no one wanted to venture out onto the beach just because the pyukumuku were there—even if people didn’t think they were cute, they weren’t hurting anything—but when the lifeguard suggested that she and Alan do everyone a favor and throw the pyukumuku back into the ocean, Manon agreed for both of them without much of a second thought. That was how they ended up out on the beach, Lizardon flying overhead while Hari-san ran the length of the beach, pointing out pyukumuku with his vine whip for her to pick up and throw. On cue, Hari-san called out to her from farther down the beach, poking at another pyukumuku with a single vine.

“Another one!” Manon crowed, and she grinned at Alan over her shoulder as she ran to it. “Hurry up, Alan! You’re going to lose at this rate!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alan said, but he didn’t make any move to run after her. So far, she had thrown pretty much every pyukumuku, and though she was pretty sure he was letting her win on purpose (or else not participating in their impromptu contest at all), she was having too good of a time to be angry with him for it. “Watch where you’re running; you’re going to trip.”

“I am no—aaAH!”

Undone by the strap on her own sandal, Manon tumbled forward, arms windmilling in an attempt to catch her balance, before Hari-san’s vines snapped around her arms and chest, holding her upright. He held her just long enough for her to regain her footing, and she smiled gratefully at him as he sighed and released her. “Thanks, Hari-san! You’re as dependable as ever.”

“And you’re as clumsy as ever,” Alan said. Manon turned and stuck her tongue out at him. “The pyukumuku literally aren’t going anywhere, you know. You don’t have to rush.”

“But it’s more fun this way! Besides, this is why I’m winning: because I actually bother to put some energy into it,” she said. Alan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You know,” she said, and she grinned slyly at him, “if you ask me really nicely, I might let you throw thi—”

“I finally found you!”

“—s on—huh?” Manon, Hari-san, and Alan all looked around at the sound of the shout, which carried easily down the beach. When she saw who it was, Manon groaned and let her head droop to her chest.

It was Gladion. Of _course_ it was Gladion.

“You again?” Alan asked, and he raised one hand to the sky, circling his index finger once in the air before he lowered his arm back to his side. Gladion stalked across the beach toward them, venom in his eyes as he glared at Alan, and Manon shelved her exasperation and mustered her frustration to scowl right back at him.

“This is the third island you’ve followed us to!” she said, and she balled her fingers into fists at her sides as she took a step forward. “Why can’t you get a life and go bother someone else?” By her feet, Hari-san shouted his agreement.

Gladion stopped a few feet in front of them, and scoffed at her. “Like you’re one to talk about stalking people, chick.”

“I only followed you _once_ down a couple of streets! You’re following _us_ all the way across the archipelago!” Manon said, as Lizardon swooped down to land behind Alan. “Do you really want to keep losing to Alan that badly?”

If Gladion possessed powers of pyrokinesis, Manon thought the flower crown in her hair might have caught fire under the scathing look he sent her. “I’m not gonna lose again!”

“That’s what you said last time, and the time before that,” Manon said, and though she knew it was a bit mean of her, she grinned as he ground his teeth together. “But go ahead, keep trying. You might make it past Lizardon on your nine hundredth try.”

Gladion growled, actually _growled_ a little as he glowered at her, before he snapped, “I’m gonna make it past on _this_ try, shortstack! Just watch me! You!” He pointed his finger at Alan, who merely stepped aside so that Lizardon could walk forward. “It’s time to battle!”

“Who are you calling ‘shortstack’?! We’re the same height!” Manon cried, at the same time that Alan said, “Same as before?”

Gladion ignored her, and if Manon had felt affronted at being called “shortstack” before, she felt even more incensed now. He pulled his pokéball—the only pokéball he had, Manon thought, the one that held his partner Null—from the pocket of his hoodie. “You bet your ass. We—”

As if someone had flipped a switch in his head, Gladion froze, and the arm holding Null’s pokéball dropped limply back to his side. He was staring not at Alan now, but at something over Alan’s shoulder, his eyes growing steadily wider as his mouth dropped open.

“Shit,” he hissed, and he fumbled with Null’s pokéball as he reduced its size again before he stuffed it back into his hoodie pocket. “Shit, shit, shit—!”

Manon frowned, her earlier ire fading in the face of his clear panic. She had only known him for about a week so far, but in that time the most vulnerable she had ever seen him was flustered—and even then, flustered for Gladion was more of the embarrassed, angry sort. In honesty, Manon had begun to seriously doubt he _had_ emotions other than “angry,” “embarrassed angry,” and “sarcastic angry.” The terror he was showing now suggested that he definitely did, however, and Manon wasn’t too sure she liked it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as Alan turned to look over his shoulder at whatever had set Gladion off. Manon turned as well, in time to see at least ten people in white uniforms running down the beach toward them.

While there was a boat dock at the end of the beach by the lifeguard where Manon, Alan, and Gladion had entered, there was another pier down at the opposite end. It was still a little way out from them, but it was near enough that Manon could see that a ferry had, at some point, docked next to it. She could only guess that the ferry was where the people in uniforms had come from, due to the lifeguard’s insistence that no one would want to use the beach with the pyukumuku on it and the fact that she couldn’t recall seeing anyone else dressed in those uniforms on Melemele Island. But whether or not they had come from the ship didn’t seem to matter very much to Gladion; Manon looked back in time to see that fear had driven the blood from his face, and he stumbled and tripped over himself as he hastily backed away.

“What’s wrong?” Manon asked again, and she took a step toward him, holding out her hand. She didn’t know what she expected to happen—didn’t know if she should stop him, or if having a hand to hold might make him feel better—but it was all she could think to do. His eyes snapped to her, his expression uncomprehending and wild for that one second, before he turned and fled.

The second he did, the people in white uniforms shouted something. Manon couldn’t make out what it was, and she gathered Hari-san into her arms just in case the people were going to pose a threat to them as well; but as she did, Alan said, “Lizardon!” and Lizardon unleashed a stream of fire across the sand, forcing the people in white uniforms to skid to screeching halts to avoid barreling into it and effectively cutting off their pursuit of Gladion. Once they had stopped (crashing into and tripping over each other in the process), Lizardon ceased his flamethrower, and Manon took a moment to marvel at how much sparklier the sand looked where he had heated it.

“Oh! Oh dear, oh dears, what happened?”

Manon looked back down the beach as a woman—also wearing white, but with a pink turtleneck to go with it—jogged (as best as she could in heels, anyway) up to the pile of uniformed people, all of whom were struggling to untangle and pick themselves up off the sand. Her dark hair had so much volume that it looked bigger than her head, and the frames of her glasses matched her sweater. The eyes behind her lenses were green.

“There was fire—it was a wall of fire!” said one of the men in uniform as he pushed himself to his feet.

One of the women in uniform didn’t bother to get up. Instead, she pointed an accusing finger at Alan as she shouted, “ _He_ did it!”

The dark-haired woman, along with all of the uniformed people, looked as one toward Alan. Manon looked at him as well, and had to suppress a sputter of laughter at how he frowned back at them, both unapologetic and unimpressed.

“Actually,” Alan said, his tone flat, “that was Lizardon, not me.”

This time Manon _did_ laugh, though she clapped a hand over her mouth, and Lizardon snorted. The barest traces of a smirk quirked on Alan’s lips at the sound of her laughter.

It took the dark-haired woman a moment to recover, but when she did she adjusted her glasses (by pushing the corner of one frame up using only one finger—there was something classy and dignified about it, though Manon wasn’t sure why she felt that way) and smiled before she made her way across the sand.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you two—three— _four_ ,” she amended, and winked at Hari-san in Manon’s arms, “there before! Did we interrupt your battle? I’m ever so sorry if so, that was terribly rude of us! Please allow me to apologize on all of our behalves.”

“No. Our battle hadn’t started yet,” Alan said. By this point the uniformed employees had picked themselves up off the ground, and after some whispering between them a small group broke off from the rest and started to head down the beach in the direction Gladion had gone before. Manon frowned and looked up at Alan, but he was still looking at the dark-haired woman and she didn’t know if he had noticed. “Why were you chasing that kid?”

“Chasing that . . . ?” The dark-haired woman blinked in surprise and tilted her head, but then—as if she suddenly realized what Alan was talking about—she laughed, loud and surprisingly raucous for a woman who came across as so ladylike. “Oh! Oh, you mean _that_ boy. Well.” The dark-haired woman leaned a bit closer and cupped her hand around her mouth, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He _is_ one of those little Team Skull hooligans, isn’t he? It just wouldn’t do to leave him running amok, out and about!” She laughed again, and patted Alan on the arm before she stepped back. Manon didn’t miss how Alan jerked his arm away, though the movement was small enough that she didn’t think the woman noticed it.

“Team Skull are those guys that run around with the skull caps and large silver necklaces, aren’t they?” Manon asked. “The ones who do things like graffiti on buildings and start fights outside of the convenience marts over candy bars? I think Bonnie and I saw them trying to beat up some guy with yo-yos the other day, back on Akala Island. We used Hari-san and Bonnie’s dedenne to chase them off, but they didn’t put up much of a fight and the guy wasn’t that hurt, anyway, since they only had yo-yos.”

“Oh they do a lot more than just pick little squabbles over candy bars and color on buildings,” the dark-haired woman said, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “They steal poor little pokémon away from their trainers and treat them something awful. They sell them on the black market, too. Poaching, illegal trade—Team Skull is involved in all sorts of nasty business.”

Manon squeezed Hari-san a little tighter to her chest, and though she heard him squeak a little in discomfort, he still rubbed his head under her chin. “Really? Team Skull does that?”

“They most certainly do,” the dark-haired woman said. “That Team Skull is a nasty lot. We’d be well served with them off the streets, which is why we do our darnedest to make sure that happens!”

Manon nodded, but as another thought occurred to her, she frowned. “But Gladion doesn’t wear one of the uniforms,” she said. “He doesn’t have a big silver necklace, or a skull cap, or one of those bandanas or anything. So how do you know he’s a member of Team Skull?”

The dark-haired woman blinked, but her smile didn’t waver. There was something unsettling about it. “You know his name?”

“Huh? Oh, um, yes. We’re kind of . . . friends . . . ?” Manon looked down at Hari-san, who twisted around in her arms to look back up at her. “Hari-san, would you say we’re friends? We’ve just yelled at each other a lot so far, but . . .”

Hari-san replied back in a low coo that was just as confused as Manon felt.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, no, no, no.” The dark-haired woman clicked her tongue, and walked over to put one hand on Manon’s shoulders, the other smoothing her hair down. “No, it just won’t do for you to be friends with that boy. He’s not safe. You need to stay far, far away from him. Both of you should!” She reached over to take Alan’s hand in hers, but not only did he pull his hand back, but he put a hand on Manon’s shoulder to tug her gently behind him. Manon looked up to see that he was still frowning at the dark-haired woman, his stare unwavering.

But if the dark-haired woman took offense, she didn’t show it. “Now, I can tell the two of you are not from around here, and that’s quite all right. The more the merrier on these islands, and variety brings possibility! But since you don’t know, it’s up to me—and all of us at the Aether Foundation—to protect and guide you so long as you’re here, to ensure that your stay is filled with happiness and harmony.”

“Is that so,” Alan said, and when the woman smiled and nodded, he asked, “And what is the Aether Foundation?”

“It is _my_ foundation,” a new, clear, feminine voice said, coming from the same direction as the ferry. “It is a foundation dedicated to the protection of pokémon, and the promise of progress toward a more enlightened future.”

Manon stepped around to her original spot so she could get a better look at the new speaker, Hari-san perking up in her arms to try and get a better look himself. Beside her, Alan stood up straighter, suddenly very still.

The second she laid eyes on the woman, Manon felt her breath catch.

Soft hair the color of early morning sunlight fell like silken curtains around the woman’s slender frame, spilling over her bare shoulders and gracing the back of her calves. Her dress was simple—yellow and white, somehow reminiscent of the dawn—but a dark green jewel encased in a golden brooch pinned on front gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Like the dark-haired woman, this woman wore heels, but rather than bob across the sand in small, excited steps, the new woman took long, confident strides that swayed her hips and set her shoulders back. She was elegant and poised in every way, and—

Manon blinked as the woman neared, and scrunched her face in thought.

The woman’s eyes were green—bright green, a startling, chemical green. It was a color Manon had seen before, she knew, in someone else’s eyes—but at that moment, she couldn’t remember who.

“Madame President!” the dark-haired woman gasped, and she tittered as the new woman—a president, it seemed—turned to look at her. “Did we keep you waiting too long? I’m terribly sorry to have made you come out here; I just got so caught up in explaining things to these new young friends that I must have completely lost track of time—”

“It’s quite all right, Wicke,” the president said, and the dark-haired woman—Wicke—smiled gratefully. “Though I don’t see Gladion anywhere. I suppose he . . . ?”

“Oh—yes. He scurried off on us again, the little scamp!” Wicke loosed another bout of boisterous laughter, and yet again Manon felt odd about how they were talking about him. She glanced up at Alan to see if he felt the same, but he was staring straight ahead, his lips pressed tightly together. “But I believe a few of our associates went after him, let me see—ah, yes, there are fewer of us here now before! So I’m confident we’ll manage to snatch him up this time, Madame President. Don’t you worry.”

“I never do,” the president said. She turned, then, to Alan and Manon, and smiled. Manon felt her heart flutter. “I feel as though proper introductions are in order. My name is Lusamine. I am the founder and president of the Aether Foundation, which—as I previously stated—is a foundation dedicated to the protection of pokémon and progress toward a more enlightened future. This lovely woman here—” Lusamine gestured to the dark-haired woman, who clicked her tongue bashfully at the praise, “—is the Aether Foundation’s assistant branch chief, Wicke. I assure you, you will not find a kinder heart in the whole of this archipelago.”

“Madame President, please,” Wicke said, and she giggled again. “You are too much.”

“Often I feel as if I am not enough,” Lusamine said, and before Manon had a chance to question or puzzle out what that was supposed to mean, Lusamine looked back at her and Alan. “Now that we have introduced ourselves, may I ask your names?”

“Ah, um—I’m Manon! And this little one here is my partner, Hari-san, the most capable pokémon in the whole of the Kalos region!” Manon said. She held up Hari-san as she introduced him, and he punched his paw into the air.

Lusamine chuckled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Manon and Hari-san. May I call him Hari-san? Is that all right?”

“Oh—s-sure!” Manon said, and she smiled, unsure of why (the sun aside) it suddenly felt so warm. “That’s fine!”

“Thank you,” Lusamine said, and then she turned to Alan. “And your name is?”

For a long moment, Alan didn’t answer her. He had heard her—he had to have, the way his eyes were locked on her, the way it almost looked like he was trying to stare _through_ her rather than _at_ her—but he said nothing, not so much as attempting to open his mouth, until Manon nudged him in the side with her elbow. Then, and only then, did he bite out, “Alan.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Alan,” Lusamine said. He didn’t return her the courtesy of a response or smile, but like Wicke before her she seemed to take no offense. Instead, she turned to Lizardon, and gestured to him with a wave of her hand. “And who is your fantastic partner here?”

“Lizardon,” Alan said, in the same terse tone as before.

“A wonderful name. May I call hi—”

“No.”

“Alan,” Manon hissed, but Alan didn’t look at her. He didn’t acknowledge her reproach at all, and Manon felt a curl of uneasiness in her gut at the look on his face.

But although Wicke was now eying Alan with a small frown, Lusamine didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She stepped back from Lizardon and swept her long hair back over her shoulders, and faced them both with a smile.

“Well, that is quite fair. We have only just met, after all,” she said. “But since we have been through introductions now, and since you have expressed curiosity in the Aether Foundation, why don’t you come back with us so we can take you on a guided tour of our facilities? Aether Paradise is only a thirty-minute ferry ride from this beach. Actually, it is so fortuitous that we met on Melemele Island that I almost feel as if it was fate’s design instead. Of all the islands in the Alolan archipelago, Melemele is closest to our sanctuary.”

Manon looked to Alan again, but he still wasn’t looking at her, nor did he offer any response at all to Lusamine’s offer. In the wake of his silence, she answered instead.

“How long will a tour take? And what are your facilities like? You said that it was to protect pokémon, and . . . what was the second part?”

“The tour shouldn’t take very long. Perhaps an hour at most. Combine that with a thirty-minute ride to and one back, and you would both be back here in about two hours, maximum,” Lusamine said. “Our facilities are predominately a rehabilitation clinic for pokémon that have been injured or ill-cared for, particularly as a result of crimes orchestrated by Team Skull. That is primarily would I would like to show you both today. We care for many different pokémon at Aether Paradise, and I feel that seeing them with your own two eyes will help you both understand our vision and the urgency with which Team Skull must be stopped.”

“Two hours . . .” Manon stole a glance at Alan, and—seeing that he wasn’t about to make a move for it—reached over and took his wrist so that she could get a look at his watch. Provided his watch wasn’t slow or fast, it was almost two-thirty. “Two hours should give us enough time to be back in time for dinner, so I don’t think we need to go back and tell the professor,” she said. “I think it should be okay. What do you think, Alan?”

It took him a second, but he shrugged—a tiny jerk of his shoulders that, in all honesty, didn’t tell Manon very much about how he felt one way or the other. Manon bit the inside of her cheek for a second, wavering over what to do, before she turned back to Lusamine.

“Well, I think it’ll probably be okay. So, what was the second thing you said the Aether Foundation does, Ms Lusamine?”

“We work to secure the promise of progress for a more enlightened future,” Lusamine said, and Alan turned his eyes to the ground. “Our world is already beautiful and full of endless possibility and promise, but it is precisely for that reason that we seek to capitalize on the promises and possibilities offered in this and every other world in order to create an even brighter tomorrow. Through our research and scientific discovery, we believe that we can not only secure a better future, but can construct one with our own hands that best suits the needs of the pokémon and people on this planet.”

“Wow,” Manon said, and she couldn’t help but smile a little. “That’s a pretty big dream. And between your sanctuary for the pokémon and your research, it sounds like a lot of work. You guys have a lot of things going on!”

“We certainly do,” Lusamine said. “But in order to achieve your dreams, you must push beyond your limitations.”

Alan started so badly it was as if he had been electrocuted. His head snapped up so that he could stare at Lusamine, his eyes wide and what little color had been in his cheeks leaving it. Manon jumped a little herself at his sudden reaction, caught off-guard by it as she was, but Lusamine was as unfazed by Alan’s apparent alarm as she had been by his rudeness.

“Come with me,” she said, and she turned back toward the ferry dock. “Paradise awaits.”

**\- - -**

Alan’s mood didn’t improve at all throughout the trip.

He was utterly silent on the ferry, clutching Lizardon’s pokéball securely in his left hand while his right was curled into a tight fist on his knee. Manon asked enough questions for the both of them, both to give the impression that everything was fine and because she and Hari-san were both curious. When they boarded, Lusamine led them to her own private quarters, where Manon and Alan sat on a soft, russet-colored leather sofa. Lusamine herself sat poised on a tall back chair upholstered in similarly colored leather, and smiled all throughout their conversation.

When they arrived at Aether Paradise, Alan still didn’t say a word. Although Manon was blown away by the impressive building—by the tall, sparkling glass windows and the ornate white marble that formed the walls—Alan examined everything with the same stormy glare he had worn after Lusamine left them on the beach and he came to his senses just long enough to recall Lizardon to his pokéball before starting after her. Manon wouldn’t say it out loud, but by the time they were led into the atrium of Aether Paradise (which a glance at Alan’s watch told her was about forty minutes after they departed from the beach) his utter silence and fixed scowl left her feeling far more than a little worried about him.

But there was no time to ask him about it as they were led through the atrium, which—in contrast to the pristine, modern exterior—looked more like the lobby to an inviting hotel than anything else. A lush, bright orange carpet led to the front desk (which was comprised of rich, dark wood that gleamed under the warm lights), and covered a lighter, shining wooden floor. There were glass tables with decorative flower vases on each one lining the carpet, each one surrounded by squashy looking red armchairs. Similarly-colored red tapestries decorated the walls, emblazoned with orange pokémon insignia that Manon thought represented some of the Alolan legendaries that the professor had told them about on one of their first days in the archipelago. As Lusamine led them across the atrium to a door to the right of the front desk, Manon commented, “You guys really like the color red, don’t you?”

“We believe that warm colors brighten days and inspire passion in people’s hearts,” Lusamine said. Manon liked the sound of that, but when she glanced at Alan she found him staring at the floor, his jaw locked and his posture so tense she could see the muscles standing out in his arms.

The atrium was the only room at Aether Paradise that they saw furnished in that fashion. While the corridors beyond the atrium sported the same wood flooring, the walls were stark white and the doors were made of steel, bringing to mind the pristine exterior of the building more so than the soft lights and vibrant colors of the atrium. Lusamine led them down and through the winding corridors (Wicke having left their group almost as soon as they had arrived, saying she had work to do), explaining the Aether Foundation’s mission and goals as she went, along with answering Manon’s questions with simplicity and swiftness that Manon could appreciate.

But although Lusamine answered her questions open and honestly enough, and though she showed them all around the different sanctuary wings of the facility (and there were so many—huge, grass and tree filled domes with wooden walkways painted white to match the rest of the foundation’s aesthetic, filled to the brim with grass- and bug-type pokémon so clearly happy that Manon had to restrain Hari-san from going to play with them; sandy, rocky habitats that were filled with rock-, ground-, and even some fire-type pokémon that basked beneath the light of sunlamps and worked together to create different structures from the stones and boulders around the area; massive pools that looked more like mini-lakes in which water- and ice-type pokémon thrived, splashing and floating in equal measure), it was clear that they were being herded around one wing of the building in particular. On their way back to the atrium Manon paused as they passed a large set of double-doors, and through square windows built into the top of each one, Manon could see fluorescent lights lining the ceiling that were far starker from the lights in their current corridor.

She shivered.

“Manon? Hari-san? Is something the matter?” Lusamine asked. Manon looked up to see that Lusamine had paused in her walk ahead, Alan positioned between them. For perhaps the first time since they had arrived, he was looking at her.

“No! Everything is fine!” Manon said, and Hari-san made a disbelieving, disgruntled sound in her arms. She shushed him. “Um, Ms Lusamine—what’s behind these doors?”

“That’s the science ward, where we carry out the experiments we’re currently conducting in order to better our future,” Lusamine said.

Manon glanced back toward the door out of the corner of her eye, and then took a careful side-step toward it. “Can we see?” she asked, and she raised one hand toward the door handle. “I’m really interested to know what kinds of experiments you guys are doing. It sounds really important!”

“Oh, it is quite important,” Lusamine said, and she smiled again. Manon faltered, and lowered her hand, “but I’m afraid we don’t quite have time for that today. Your hour is almost up; I wouldn’t want to keep you too long. Not when you have dinner waiting.”

“But it’s important, isn’t it?” Manon asked. “Isn’t it even more important than dinner?”

“To some, but not to you,” Lusamine said. Manon frowned. “Now come along. I believe Wicke has a gift for you before you depart.”

Manon looked at the double doors again. Part of her wanted to shove through them and start running, and she was sure that she could make it through before Lusamine had a chance to stop her. From the way Hari-san was staring at the doors from his place in her arms, she had a strong feeling that he felt the exact same way.

But before she had a chance to follow through on the impulse they both shared, Alan spoke up for the first time since Lusamine had approached them on the beach. “Manon. Let’s go.”

His voice was quiet; there was a sort of choked quality to it that suggested it was hard for him to get the words out, and when she looked back she saw that he was still staring at her, his expression hard to read. As hard to read as it was, she could still read it enough to see that he was just as uncomfortable now as he had been the entire time. Even if he wasn’t glaring at her as he had been glaring at everything and everyone else, she knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn’t joking. She stepped away from the doors.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe next time, then. If we come back on another tour later, could we see the science wing, Ms Lusamine?”

Lusamine smiled warmly at her. “Perhaps, Manon. In the mean time, let us find Wicke before we get you both back on the ferry.”

Wicke was waiting for them back in the atrium, seated at one of the coffee tables nearest the door. As they approached her she stood up, a glowing smile on her face, and held two little cloth bundles out to Manon and Alan both. Manon shifted Hari-san into the crook of her left arm as she accepted the gift with her right hand, but Alan didn’t so much as twitch toward his.

“Now, these aren’t much—I’m afraid I didn’t have too much time to prepare, what with you both needing the shortened tour and all—but I do hope you like brownies!” Wicke said, and both Manon and Hari-san grinned in delight as Hari-san untied the bundle Manon had taken so they could get a glimpse at the brownies inside. “I wasn’t sure if you liked nuts or not, so I left them out this time—but if you do like them, simply come right on back here and I’ll make sure you have nuts in your brownies next time! I know just the best recipe for that.” She held out the remaining bundle in her hand toward Alan, smiling warmly at him. “Here you are, dear.”

Alan merely stared back at her for a long moment, and when both Manon and Lusamine looked toward him as well, he finally said stiffly, “No thanks.”

Wicke’s smile fell as she lowered her hand, and as Hari-san chittered irately at Alan for his rudeness, Manon nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Hey hey, come on, no need to be _that_ much of a Gloomy Gus,” she said. “They’re just brownies, go on and take them! You know you want to—”

“No,” Alan said, and he pulled away from her elbow. He wasn’t looking at her, or at Wicke, or at any of them; his eyes were fixated on the floor. “I’m not hungry. Hari-san can have them.”

Hari-san didn’t need to be told twice. Before any of them could do anything he used his vine whip to pluck the bundle of brownies from Wicke’s hand, and transferred it to his paws instead. Wicke’s surprise quickly shifted to a beaming smile, and Lusamine smiled as well. Manon was relieved they both took Alan’s rebuff so well.

“Well, now that that’s settled, let us get you both on the ferry back to Melemele Island,” Lusamine said. “I’m afraid I will not be able to accompany you for this leg of the trip—I have far too much work to do here—but several of my associates will be more than capable of getting the job done. If you have any questions, I trust that they will be able to assist you there as well.”

“Thank you very much, Ms Lusamine,” Manon said, and she bowed courteously to show that she meant it. Hari-san mumbled his agreement around a mouthful of brownie. “We really appreciate it!”

“Likewise,” Lusamine said. Her gaze shifted to Alan, and after a second she smiled, though with the way Alan was still staring at the floor, Manon didn’t think he saw. “I look forward to seeing what the future we bring has in store for us.”

Manon wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

Lusamine had Wicke lead them back to the ferry, and once they were on-board a crew of Aether Foundation employees set the course back to Melemele Island. As had been the case since they first departed, Alan stayed quiet. This time they stood on the deck, and Manon tried talking about everything under the sun as a means to get him to open up. She talked a little bit about what they had just seen at first, but that only seemed to make his mood worse, so she switched topics to what they were going to have for dinner that night instead—whether or not it was going to be Meyer or Professor Sycamore, or perhaps a combination of both, who prepared it. When that elicited only hums and grunts from him, she tried talking about the pyukumuku back on the beach, and how there were probably still more they hadn’t had a chance to throw into the sea. She talked about Gladion, and whether or not he would try to ambush them again once they got back, and how maybe he went to find Clemont or Bonnie instead since she and Alan had left. That gave her a nice segue into talking about Clemont’s latest invention (a surfboard built into his Aipom Arm pack), and how Bonnie didn’t think it would work despite already trying to steal it at least once, and how Manon herself wanted to try it out the next time they got the chance. She talked about all of this on the ferry ride back and as they walked back to the small cabana they were staying at while on Melemele Island, but although she talked enough to allow Hari-san to finish off one of the brownie bundles all on his own, Alan offered very little feedback in response.

By the time they approached the rented cabana where they were staying, Manon felt exhausted of all of her potential small talk topics. From the walkway leading up to the door she could smell dinner cooking (seafood, she thought, but maybe with pasta?), and despite how she had started in on the second brownie bundle _with_ Hari-san, her stomach still rumbled at the scent. She looked over at Alan to see that he was still staring at the ground as he walked, and she poked him in the side to get his attention.

“Hey hey,” she said, and when he looked over at her, she added, “Mind getting the door? My hands are full.”

Alan blinked at her, as if unsure of what she had said for a moment, before he nodded. “Y-Yeah.”

He was still holding Lizardon’s pokéball in an iron-clad grip in his left hand, and so it was his right hand that he finally loosened from the fist he had been holding it in so that he could reach for the door. But as he uncurled his fingers, Manon caught a flash of red; and as she took a closer look, she nearly dropped Hari-san as her mouth fell open.

“Alan! Your hand!”

“Huh?” Alan stopped as she did, staring at her for a second before he looked down at his palm. He blinked at it again, looking truly bewildered as he stared at the blood oozing from cuts on his palm and packed beneath his short fingernails. “Oh.”

“ _Oh_? That’s all you’ve got to say? You cut your own hand open! Didn’t you notice?” Manon said, as Hari-san indignantly echoed her sentiments from her arms.

Alan didn’t remove his eyes from his hand as he said, “No.”

Manon huffed a sharp sigh. If she had been worried about him before, she felt a little sick with it now. “Well, let’s get inside. Professor Sycamore has bandages and things. He can patch you up.”

“Right.” Alan finally lowered his hand back to his side, but as he took another step toward the cabana he stopped and drew back. Manon had started forward herself, but she paused when he did and looked back at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“I—” Alan stopped and swallowed, his mouth clamped tightly shut, and though she might have imagined it, Manon though she saw his shoulders heave as if he was trying to suppress a retch. He took a breath through his nose and then said (in the same strangled voice he had used back at Aether Paradise), “Actually, I think I’m going to go flying for a while. With Lizardon.”

“What?” Manon watched as Alan released Lizardon from his pokéball, only stowing the item away once Lizardon was beside him once more. “But what about your hand? And dinner—”

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Alan said, but he sounded distracted and he wasn’t looking at her again. Lizardon leaned forward and Alan jumped on his back.

“Hey,” Manon said, as Hari-san gave an unhappy cry. Manon took a step forward and raised a hand out toward him. “Wait—!”

But Lizardon pushed off the ground and shot into the air, taking both himself and Alan far away from Manon and Hari-san. Manon lowered her hand back to her side, and frowned at the sight of the two of them quickly disappearing against the horizon.

Ever since everything with Team Flare had happened, Alan had been very good at leaving in ways she couldn’t follow.

With no way of pursuing him or knowing when he would be back, Manon heaved a sigh and turned to enter the cabana (Hari-san helpfully taking the second bundle of brownies from her hand so that she could open the door). When she entered, she was immediately assaulted by the delicious scent of fish and spices from the kitchen, and when she saw who was manning the stove, she saw that it was no wonder: Meyer was cooking, so whatever they were having for dinner that night was bound to be amazing.

“Manon! Good to see you back,” Professor Sycamore said. He was seated on the sofa by the coffee table, several manila folders, documents, and a research journal spread out in front of him. His garchomp, Gabrielle, was crouched beside him, and on the other side of the coffee table Clemont and Manon were playing a board game with Bonnie’s dedenne and Clemont’s bunnelby and chespin. Hari-san hopped out of Manon’s arms to go join them. “Dinner should be ready in about an hour, I think. Meyer?”

“An hour sounds about right,” Meyer called back from the kitchen.

Manon nodded. “That’s good. I’m pretty hungry.”

Professor Sycamore smiled at her, but after a second his smile faded into a worried frown. “You seem down. Did something happen?” he asked. Before Manon could answer he added, “And where’s Alan? You two were going to the beach together, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Manon said. She walked over to sit down on the couch beside him, and as he closed his research journal so that he could give her his full attention (and as both Clemont and Bonnie looked over curiously) she asked, “Professor Sycamore, have you ever heard of the Aether Foundation?”

**\- - -**

The sun was hot against Alan’s skin as Lizardon shot into the air, but although the wind that pushed his hair back from his forehead and whipped through his t-shirt was just as warm, it was refreshing in a way that nothing else could have managed to be just then. As Lizardon reached a good altitude and drew his body parallel with the earth (and then the sea) beneath them, Alan sat back and stretched his arms wide. The sun and wind both felt amazing—freeing—and for the first time since the Aether Foundation employees—since _Lusamine_ had approached him on the beach, he successfully took a deep breath and filled his lungs with a decent amount of air.

But although Lizardon was capable of carrying him like this, there was a better way for him to do so. As Lizardon glided over the sea, beating his wings every now and then to keep them up in the air, Alan grabbed the Key Stone he wore on a cord around his neck. With the smooth, precious pendant cupped in his right palm, and his left hand resting on the back of Lizardon’s head, Alan closed his eyes and said, “Key Stone, respond to my heart. Surpass evolution—mega evolve!”

The Key Stone in his palm grew warm as a flash emanated from the Charizardite that Lizardon wore on a matching cord around his own neck. Brilliant rainbow light shined from it, pulsing around them, and Lizardon unleashed an exhilarated roar as the transformation took hold. Alan opened his eyes only when Lizardon shot forward with a renewed burst of gifted speed, and when he did, he gently scratched Lizardon’s now black scales before he leaned forward to enjoy the flight more comfortably.

After . . . everything that had happened with the director and Team Flare, neither Alan nor Lizardon wanted to continue wearing the items that the direc—that _Lysandre_ had given them a little over two years ago. Setting aside the fact that the Mega Ring and collar represented the contract that Alan had foolishly entered, the Mega Ring was still wired to gather information for Team Flare, and Lizardon’s ostentatious silver collar had borne Lysandre’s family crest ( _had_ being the operative word, because the moment it was off Alan had thrown it into the air and Lizardon struck it with a blast of fire so hot it fell back to the earth in a goopy, partially melted mess). It was a crest that neither of them wanted to look at ever again, and a more than two-year long ordeal that Alan wanted nothing more than to forget, even though he never would. The more distance they put between themselves and the shackle and collar that had bound them both to Lysandre, the better.

However, that had left the question of the Key Stone and Charizardite. Initially, Alan had planned for both himself and Lizardon to be done with them; they didn’t _need_ mega evolution for Lizardon to be strong, and if casting aside Lysandre’s branding meant also casting aside the Key Stone and Charizardite, that was a sacrifice that they had mutually agreed to make. But two weeks after Alan and Lizardon had returned to the lab, Professor Sycamore slid a white box across the table toward Alan as they drank coffee together under the light of early dawn. Inside the Key Stone and Charizardite had sat, both fastened to suede cords. Alan’s Key Stone was fastened in a silver pendant that resembled a half moon, while Lizardon’s Charizardite was fastened in a gold pendant that resembled a half sun. Complete with the Key Stone and Charizardite, the two pendants looked like two halves of a single whole.

“I thought this would be more comfortable for you both,” Professor Sycamore had said. “You can decide how to wear them, if you want them—and if you don’t, that’s fine as well. But if you do . . . well.” He had smiled. “Consider these two years’ worth of missed birthday presents.”

The professor didn’t have to get him anything for his birthday—and considering all he had done over the past two years, Alan didn’t think he deserved anything, anyway. But the professor was giving both the Key Stone and Charizardite new meaning, and especially considering that Alan had originally set out to study mega evolution for the professor’s benefit, he hadn’t been able—hadn’t _wanted_ —to say no.

In times like this, he was more grateful than ever for the gifts he and Lizardon had received that day.

Lizardon swooped down low, skimming over the surface of the ocean, and Alan leaned across him to dip his injured right hand into the water. He grimaced as the salt water stung the cut in his palm, but when he lifted his hand up the water helped rinse away the blood still streaked across his skin. He watched it for a second—watched a few fresh beads of blood leak out from the little cuts—before he pulled back and nudged Lizardon higher into the air again. This time, it took less effort from Lizardon to propel them higher into the sky.

There was nothing quite like flying. Alan hadn’t done it nearly enough in the time since Lizardon had finally evolved into charizard. He took another great lungful of air, relishing in the way the wind whipped across his skin and his stomach swooped and flipped with every turn and dip Lizardon took through the sky. Alan patted his hand against one of the spikes along the back of Lizardon’s neck, and Lizardon took the cue for what it was, shooting forward with a burst of speed that tore an exhilarated laugh out of Alan before he could help it. This—this was what he had always dreamed of, what he had always wanted. Flying like this, together with Lizardon, testing their limits and pushing past them—

_“In order to achieve your dreams, you must push beyond your limitations.”_

Alan felt as if Lizardon had flown them straight into the side of a steel building. The memory slammed a renewed wave of nausea through him, and he clapped a hand over his mouth as he fought the urge to vomit, breathing deeply through his nose. Lizardon, sensing that something was wrong, made a concerned sound as he looked back. Alan shook his head, and turned his eyes to the horizon.

The Alolan archipelago was comprised of four primary islands, but there were smaller islands surrounding it by the sea. Some were populated and had been annexed by Alola (or Unova, depending on the case), and others were uninhabited and filled instead with wildlife. The nearest island to them was one that Alan thought fell into the latter category; it was straight ahead, and they were near enough now that he could see a grassy cliff overlooking the sea. Swallowing down his bile the best he could, Alan pointed toward it.

“Land there,” he said.

Lizardon rumbled his assent before he shot forward, beating his wings twice more to give him an added burst of speed. They came up on the island quickly, and Lizardon circled it once before he touched down on the grassy cliff. The moment he did Alan rolled off his back and stumbled to the cliff’s edge, falling to his hands and knees once he reached it.

_“In order to achieve your dreams, you must push beyond your limitations.”  
“If you want to fulfill your wish, become the strongest.”_

They weren’t the same words, not exactly. But they were similar enough that Alan heaved, and lost what remained of his breakfast and lunch over the side of the cliff face as Lizardon (the mega evolution having worn off the moment Alan disembarked) put a comforting claw on his back. He retched several times before his stomach had finally emptied itself of all it had, and even then he continued to cough and gag against the nauseated feeling constricting his throat, as if his body thought that if he tried hard enough, he could vomit up each and every last toxic feeling and memory he had stored up over the past two years. But that wasn’t possible no matter how hard he tried, and his stomach finally settled itself out, allowing him to sit back, cold and clammy and shaking.

“Thanks, Lizardon,” he mumbled, and Lizardon sat back on his haunches, transferring his claw to Alan’s hair instead. “Sorry about that.”

Lizardon loosed another low rumble— _don’t worry about it_ , in Charizardese—and Alan scrubbed his hands up over his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

They weren’t the same. They weren’t. They obviously were not the same. Even at a glance the differences between the director and Aether Foundation’s president were obvious. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, while she was a shorter, slenderer woman. He wore dark charcoal grey and black while she adorned herself in white and pale yellow. They were different—they were different, they were _different_ and not at all the same, but from the moment Alan heard Lusamine’s voice, from the moment he _saw_ her . . . he couldn’t help but feel like he was looking at, listening to, and standing in the presence of _Lysandre_.

Alan drew his knees up to his chest so that he could rest his elbows upon them, and gripped his hair between his fingers as he squeezed his eyes shut. His heart fluttered inside his chest like an agitated fletchling, and it was suddenly very hard to breathe again, just as it had been ever since he had boarded the ferry.

They were different, they were _different._ Lysandre and Lusamine . . . Fleur-De-Lis Labs and the Aether Foundation . . . one in Kalos, the other in Alola . . . one researching mega evolution energy for a more peaceful tomorrow, the other promising progress toward an enlightened future . . . both favoring red and orange furnishings, both touching only vaguely on the science they were conducting and the futures they promised, both speaking of beauty, both speaking of peace, both having sterile, chrome corridors leading to their scientific wings, as Alan had spotted through the windows set into the tops of the doors that Manon had wanted to go through—

Alan sucked in as sharp of a breath as he could, and swallowed down the urge to retch again as he looked back up over the cliffside, staring out at the sparkling ocean.

It had been a little over two months since he had been free of Fleur-De-Lis Labs—of Team Flare—of Lysandre. Back home, Lumiose City’s reconstruction was almost complete, and most of Kalos had resumed their daily lives with so much enthusiasm that it was almost as if they were trying to spit in the faces of those that had tried to kill them all. Things were settling down, returning to normal—and he was supposed to be, too. He was supposed to be getting better—was supposed to _be_ better. He was trying; each day it got a little easier to push through, a little easier to smile, a little easier to forget his issues until it was okay to remember them. It became exponentially easier once his physical injuries healed, and he was allowed to help out around the lab again; being completely useless and unable to earn his keep, despite how the professor insisted he didn’t have to, had been agonizing. Once his physical injuries healed enough so that he was able to work, it became easier to pretend—even to himself—that his other issues had sorted themselves out, too.

But it had been two months, and so Alan thought that he was less _pretending_ and was more _okay_ at this point. Two months—two _entire months_ , and yet when he saw a woman who led an organization that claimed (that _was_?) for peace, it was as if no time had passed at all. He shut down. He threw up. His brain locked itself in a furious volley of thoughts, one side arguing _they’re legitimate and you’re paranoid_ while the other fired back _but what if they aren’t and I’m not?_ Two months, and he still couldn’t figure out what to think or what to do. Two whole months, and he was still completely worthless.

Lizardon, as if sensing his thoughts, leaned down and nuzzled his snout into Alan’s hair.

Alan wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his forehead against them. He couldn’t be useless. He couldn’t. He had to _do_ something, he had to—stop it, somehow, even if he didn’t know what he was supposed to be stopping, and even if he was only going to be in Alola for another two weeks. Part of him—the part that was insisting that he was being paranoid, that there was nothing wrong and that Aether had a good chance of being completely legitimate—pointed out that this meant that the Aether Foundation wasn’t really his problem. He was just a tourist, wasn’t he? Just a guest. In two weeks he would be back in Kalos, and then he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Out of sight, out of mind. It wouldn’t matter once he was back in Kalos.

But no, it didn’t work like that. It never had. It didn’t matter that he was a tourist, or that this was taking place in Alola, or that he wasn’t even _Kalos’_ Champion, much less Alola’s (or that Alola didn’t even _have_ a Champion because their government didn’t run under the League system, and Alan didn’t know nearly enough about it to know who their Champion equivalent would be). Now that he knew, he had to do something about it, especially because if Aether _was_ like Flare, then the problem wouldn’t remain isolated in Alola forever. It would spread, and it would eventually reach Kalos just as it would reach the rest of the world. And even if it didn’t . . . the people in Alola would die. The pokémon in Alola would die, too. And if he knew that, and still did nothing—

No, he had to do something. He knew now, and that _made_ it his problem. If they were evil, he had to do _something_.

If _they’re evil,_ part of him insisted, and he squeezed his knees tighter against his chest, fighting to breathe. _If they are, and I’m not just being paranoid._

He was, of course. He was paranoid. Manon hadn’t seemed to have any problem with them, after all. Any discomfort she felt was just because of how _he_ had freaked out. If he had been able to handle it like a normal person, she would have had a great time.

 _Or maybe they_ are _evil,_ the other side of him countered, _and the only reason I have any doubt at all is because I’m too stupid to see people’s true intentions and my judgment can’t be trusted because of it._

And that was also true. His judgment was garbage. He had trusted Lysandre, had totally bought in to every single one of his lies and half-truths. He had, right up until the attack on Lumiose, believed that Lysandre truly was working toward peaceful purposes. His judgment was worthless.

 _But if my judgment can’t be trusted,_ part of him insisted, _then how can I judge that they_ are _evil?_

 _If my judgment can’t be trusted, how can I judge that they’re_ not _?_

_Better to judge them innocent and leave them alone rather than become a criminal by attacking a peaceful organization dedicated to pokémon welfare._

_Better to judge them evil and do something rather than letting yet another organization almost destroy the world again._

Alan groaned loudly—more of a restrained scream than anything—and flopped back onto the grass, Lizardon loosing a low croon of concern. He needed help. Alan needed help. He had no idea what to do, he couldn’t figure it out, his judgment as it stood couldn’t be trusted, and he needed a second opinion. Fresh eyes, fresh ears, someone who knew what they were doing, someone who could give him advice, someone who was used to this sort of thing. He needed—

Steven.

He sat up and, with a bit of effort, pulled his PokéNav Plus from his pants pocket. Before departing Kalos for Hoenn, Steven had given him the newest model of Devon Corporation’s PokéNav Plus as a replacement for his Holo Caster.

“I thought that looking at and using something produced by Fleur-De-Lis Laboratories might make you feel a little . . . itchy,” Steven had said, and smiled as Alan took the device from him.

“You’re not wrong,” Alan had replied, and Steven’s smile had grown as Alan tossed his Holo Caster into the nearby trashcan.

Steven had programmed his number into the PokéNav Plus’s Entry Call app before giving the device to Alan, and had reminded him prior to leaving to call if he ever needed anything. Alan hadn’t called him since then—he hadn’t had a reason to, and he wasn’t much one for small talk—but now he thought that this was as good of a reason as any. He flipped the PokéNav Plus open, and tried to ignore the way his hand shook a little as he pulled up the Entry Call app and scrolled down to Steven’s number. He froze once he reached it, his finger hovering over the Call button.

He could call Steven. He could. But if he did, what was he supposed to say? _‘Hey Steven, sorry to bother you, but there is this organization in Alola that I think might possibly be evil. No, they haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, they’re caring for sick and injured pokémon. One of their employees gave Manon brownies. They’re actively trying to round up known criminals. But I had a panic attack when meeting their president, so that means they’re evil, right?’_

Even in his head the words were embarrassing.

He snapped the PokéNav Plus shut and shoved it back into his pocket. No, he couldn’t bother Steven with this. He couldn’t bother Steven with a _possibility_ that some organization in a region far from his _might_ have been evil. If anything, Steven would probably just encourage him to get in touch with the local authorities. But then, how could he do that when the Aether Foundation had clearly existed for all this time and no one had done anything about it yet? Clearly the authorities, whoever they were, trusted Aether. That had to mean that Aether was legitimate.

. . . But then again, Lysandre had run Fleur-De-Lis Labs for _years_ without anyone suspecting a thing. They, too, had been allowed to exist peacefully and work toward actual genocide without Kalosean authorities stepping in. That the Aether Foundation could do the same here in Alola wasn’t saying much.

Alan heaved a sigh and let himself fall back onto the grass again.

He didn’t know, and until he knew he couldn’t bother Steven one way or the other. But there was no way for him _to_ know, like this. Sitting here, wracked with indecision—he was getting nowhere, and only proving himself to be more useless by the second. So if he couldn’t bother Steven, then what would Steven do? What _had_ he done, when he met Lysandre and learned of the search for the megalith?

He had gone with him. He had gone through with the plan to unearth the megalith, and had later gone to Fleur-De-Lis Labs with the express purpose of speaking to Lysandre about it. When faced with suspicions and no proof, Steven had investigated. And that, Alan thought, was what _he_ was going to have to do . . . if he could manage to spend more than five seconds in Lusamine’s presence without having another panic attack and shutting down.

He huffed a short, humorless laugh as he said, “Gods, I’m pathetic.”

Lizardon growled sharply, disagreement thick in his voice.

But pathetic or not, he had to do it. He had two weeks—he could start easy. Alan pushed himself to his feet and looked over at Lizardon, who gazed steadily back at him.

“What do you say we run some reconnaissance?” he asked, and he reached over to scratch beneath Lizardon’s jaw with his left hand. Lizardon leaned into Alan’s touch, rubbing against his palm. “Just some aerial observance, nothing too serious yet. We’ll have to wait until nightfall, though. You’d stand out too much during the day, even mega evolved. At night we’ll have much better cover after you mega evolve, even accounting for your tail flame.”

Lizardon nodded, loosing a little sound of agreement, and Alan gave him a faint smile. Recon he could do. And if he went at night, none of the others had to know. He didn’t have to ruin their vacation with this. They could still have a good time, even if his little episode had ruined Manon’s day. And with any luck, his recon would reveal that the Aether Foundation was a perfectly legitimate organization after all, and he had nothing to worry about. And if it didn’t . . .

Well, Steven had said that he thought Alan would make a fine Champion, didn’t he? Maybe this was the perfect way for Alan—and Lizardon, too—to put those words to the test.


End file.
